


Lessons In Pain

by KinkyGrrlDiane (AnneTaylor)



Series: Broken series [5]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21978004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneTaylor/pseuds/KinkyGrrlDiane
Summary: Nothing is ever fully paid.  Bound and helpless, Krycek thinks Skinner has sold him out. It hurts more than he could have imagined.
Relationships: Alex Krycek/Walter Skinner
Series: Broken series [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579693
Kudos: 11





	Lessons In Pain

The living room floor is littered with boxes. Mr. Chen’s. Thai Delicious. Juan Colorado. Olive Garden. He said take-out.

I pace restlessly back and forth between the kitchen and the hallway. Is he really planning on coming back? Or is he somewhere, maybe having a beer with Mulder and Scully, laughing about how he left the rat bastard at the altar…

Okay, I’m feeling way too sorry for myself. I go to the kitchen and pull out a Hellbender. Not the best ales I ever tasted, but I love the name.

As the cold liquid slides down my throat, I hear a furtive sound at the door.

It might be him. It might not. I brace against the kitchen entrance and sight.

The door opens and Skinner walks in. He doesn’t seem to be particularly disturbed to be at the business end of my Glock. The amount of food on the living room floor does give him pause. “Are we expecting company?”

I holster the Glock. “You didn’t say what you wanted.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“You weren’t here for me to ask.” _Why are we arguing about trivial shit like this?_ I go sit on the floor, crack open a pair of chopsticks and start shoveling sweet and sour pork down my throat.

Skinner goes into the bathroom. Fastidious? Not feeling well? Trying to steel himself for the coming ordeal?

By the time he comes out I’ve convinced myself that he’s going to make some kind of excuse. _I thought I’d have time, but there’s something urgent at work. Rain check?_

He sits on the other side of our food hoard and goes through the boxes until he finds the chicken Alfredo and bread sticks. I make note of the selection. “Got beer?”

“What kind of man doesn’t have beer in his fridge?”

He comes back with the Grampus Nut Brown. He tips it back, then sets it aside and attacks the Alfredo. “I said we were going to talk.”

I toss my empty aside and go to fetch another Red Line. “Was there a question there?”

He smiles. “I like this,” he said. “I’ve missed having someone to come home to.” He took a swallow. “I thought Mulder was going to choke to death on at least two occasions today,” he went on thoughtfully. “The director had no trouble believing that I had managed to escape by leaping out of the passenger side of a moving car. There’s an APB out on you, by the way.”

“Just adds to the mystique.” I used to collect them, hacking into the police system to get copies. Got old, eventually.

“I was pretty careful not to let myself be followed, but eventually I’m going to slip. Meeting like this isn’t safe.”

“Are we going to be doing it often enough to be a problem?”

“Yes.”

“You’re that sure of me?”

“No. But if I get followed even one time, that will be a problem.”

“So, is that what we’re here to talk about? Logistics? Threat assessment?”

“Save that for the second date,” he suggests.

“Well…what are we here to talk about, then?”

“So impatient...” He goes into the kitchen with his bread-sticks. When he come back out there’s a look on his face, like he’s just seen something very unpleasant. “Been a while since you used the microwave, hmm?”

We eat in silence. He polishes off the Alfredo and picks his way through the rest, one box at a time, separating them into two ordered piles. I know they’re ordered because there’s a direct correspondence between their position and the number of bites he’s taken from them.

I do a quick set of calculations. Olive Garden twice a week. Juan Colorado and Chen’s once. Three days to rotate. I look up to see him watching me.

“Pick up your beer and let’s move to the bedroom.” He rises to his feet, slides the security bolt shut and disappears into my bedroom.

Suddenly the sweet and sour doesn’t seem quite so interesting any more. I bring my beer with me.

He’s barefoot. His back is to me. His coat hangs off the back of my chair, his shirt a crumpled heap on the floor. Vertical scars the color of dried blood mark his skin. The sight arrests me…god, the man is beautiful. Powerful shoulders. A boxer’s body. He pauses, and his head turns.

“You don’t waste any time.” I hate the fact that I sound a little breathless.

“Is that a complaint? I like to start with what works.”

“Not complaining. I just…” I gulp down the last of my beer and toss the can over my shoulder. “Just want to know what the rules are.”

“Fair enough. Stand still.”

I don’t move. He strips me all the way down. It isn’t an act of seduction, just his usual, focused efficiency. First the shirt. He undoes the buttons and drops it on top of his own. Then he unzips me and pulls the jeans down to my knees. Nothing more to do there; I decided to go commando for the night. He doesn’t seem surprised and I suppress a little surge of disappointment. He pushes me down on the bed and removes my boots and socks.

Mulder was more of a minimalist. Sometimes he would barely even unzip me; I always wondered what he was imagining as my zipper was banging into his ass.

Skinner removes his slacks and drapes them across the chair seat. He hesitates. “You like it standing up or lying down?”

I have to think about that for a while. Mulder liked me standing. It gave him a kick to watch my knees fold. I’d like something different with Skinner. “On the bed.”

“Briefs on or off?”

“On,” I tell him. It’s kind of a kink of mine.

He smiles.

Okay, got that right. I think. A smile doesn’t always mean what you think it means, with Mulder. Skinner’s a lot more straightforward. I’m starting to tingle in all the best places. Anticipation is more than half the fun.

He fetches the lube off the side table and squeezes a generous portion onto his fingers. “Turn over. On your knees.” He takes his time with me, working a finger in, then two.

By the time he gets to three I know I’m not going to last. Not that it matters. Mulder loved to keep stroking long after I was so spent I couldn’t do anything but whimper as he plundered my ass. “Sorry…coming…” He grabs my cock with his slicked fingers and strokes me, once, twice and I’m shooting and biting down on the scream.

I’m soaked with sweat and quivering on the bed. I wait for him to tell me what to do next.

"You like it this way, Alex?" His fingers slide lazily up the crack of my buttocks.

"Yeah. God, yeah." Mulder and I both like to take it up the ass. It made for some interesting negotiations in the earlier days of our bed sports. "You?"

"I…" I can hear the discomfort in his voice. "I don't know. I've never been with anyone but a woman before."

I roll up onto my side. "Never?"

"No." He stares out the window, lost in thought.

I practically raped him, then. It wasn't mutual desire. _Fuck_. I had hoped…

It all seems so stupid, now. I’d thought I was giving him his manhood back. Guess what I was really doing was taking it away. Again. “Sorry.”

I sit up. I want to touch him, but I can’t bring myself to, now. _He never wanted this…_

Why the fuck do I care all of the sudden? I’m Alex Krycek, amoral rat-bastard and opportunist. I brought him here to hurt him, and to hurt Mulder. I changed my mind. That’s a good thing, right? It’s more than anyone even expected of me.

No wonder he had such a hard time getting it up. No wonder the act brought him no pleasure. I wonder if he closed his eyes and pretended I was a woman. Or pretended that he was stroking himself.

 _It wasn’t me that he saw last night_ … The humiliation is almost more than I can bear.

“Alex?” He’s looking at me, his eyes puzzled. I wonder what he sees. Who he sees.

“Fuck this.” I throw the covers off my legs and start to crawl off the bed, but a large hand closes over my shoulder and yanks me back. I find myself flat on my back, staring up at Skinner’s scowling face.

“You’re not going anywhere. We’re not finished here. Hell…we haven’t even started. You’re not running away from me, or from what happened here last night. This is not a pattern I’m going to accept, Alex. If I’ve learned anything from past mistakes it’s that you have to deal with it. No, I’ve never been into men. Not before last night. That doesn’t mean anything.”

I should be fighting him. I’m Alex-fucking-Krycek. I’ve spilled intestines out of abdominal cavities for shit like this. I don’t let anyone touch me against my will, don’t take shit from anyone unless they’re holding a gun at my head. Skinner doesn’t have a gun. Just a big, warm hand. And his eyes. They’re so dark, the pupils so large I almost think I can see myself mirrored in them. I never could, with Mulder.

“I don’t understand you, Alex. I’m going to, though. If it’s the last thing I do I’m going to find out what’s inside your head.”

His words slam into me like a fist to the gut. I can’t breath. I don’t understand why. “A…and then what?” I hate the quaver in my voice. I hate the way his searching eyes make me feel so vulnerable. I can’t tear away from them.

His hand slips up to cup my ass cheek, runs up the skin of my back. “And then I deal with you. Or we deal with each other. I don’t know what I’m going to find in there, Alex. Maybe this is all some sort of elaborate plan to fuck with my mind. Something you’ve set up at that bastard’s orders, to finish the process of breaking me…”

“No. Don’t believe that,” I find myself begging him hoarsely. “I wouldn’t…” God…why wouldn’t I? I’ve done worse things. I’m an amoral piece of shit who’d sell his own mother to the devil if the price was right.

Just ask Mulder.

Skinner shakes his head ruefully, his thumb lingering against the edge of my lips. “It’s hardly worth the bother, if that’s what it’s about. I was planning on turning in my resignation in a few weeks. I’m done. Out of the game.”

“Don’t let him, Skinner. Don’t let the bastard win like that.”

His eyes are troubled. “Why not, Alex? Why does it matter?” There’s no accusation in his voice, no anger or hurt. Just resignation. He really doesn’t think it matters.

“It…matters.” I almost say it matters to Mulder, but just in time I remember that I hate the bastard. And implying to Skinner that his only value is as a resource for Mulder to use in his endless search for Truth is a fucking cruel thing to do. Ask me how I know. “You’ve survived so much shit, Skinner. After everything you gave, everything you accomplished. Don’t think it isn’t worth something. Don’t throw it away.”

A frown grows, sending creases down the lines of his face. “I’m not planning to.”

I close my eyes, not wanting to see what that expression turns into. I’m made for killing and manipulating and surviving, not for relationships. Other than Mulder, and he was pretty easy. Those rules aren’t working on Skinner, though, and that means if I want to keep him with me, I’ll have to find out what the new rules are.

First rule. Who gets control? With Mulder it was always Mulder. But Skinner is a big man used to command. Sometimes they like to lead from underneath. I think back over the past couple of days. He hasn’t been hesitant to take what he wanted, that rules out the closet sub.

Second rule: What’s his trigger? Like I said, Mulder was easy. All I had to do was open up my box of Shitty Things Krycek Has Done That He Never Was Punished For and Mulder was creaming in no time. Didn’t matter if I’d already used one and been thoroughly punished, Mulder is more fond of the idea than the reality.

“You have a very expressive face, for someone who makes his living off deception,” Skinner remarks.

“What? You think you can read my mind?” I snort. “Yeah, Mulder says I think with my eyebrows, but you don’t know fuck about what’s going on in my head.”

“Oh, I rather think I do. You’re trying to figure out how to manipulate me into doing what you want.” He throws his leg over my hips just an instant before I flex, trying to throw myself off the bed. Our crotches bang together. Not fun for me.

He winces. “Little shit.”

His thighs pin my legs together, his weight holding me down. The heat of his body makes me aware of how cold I am.

“Okay, now that we have established that I’m a mind reader, tell me what you’ve come up with.”

“Fuck that.”

“That’s always the answer with you, isn’t it? I’m in control, and if I’m not, I’m gone.”

I give him a puzzled look.

He laughs. His deep voice vibrates though his legs.

The expression frightens me; I’ve never seen it on Skinner’s face before. Not sure what it means for me.

“What, you think just because you let Mulder catch you and beat the shit out of you, it means Mulder is in control? God, K…Alex, you’ve been fighting for control so long you don’t even know what it is any more.”

He’s not making any sense. “Is there another Krycek in the room? Cause you’re sure as hell not talking to me. I’m not in control of anything,” I snort. “Just the Consortium’s bottom feeding piss-boy. Ask anyone.”

“I didn’t say you actually achieve it, most of the time. I think that’s part of your problem,” Skinner says thoughtfully. “Perpetually frustrated? That would fit the profile.”

“Are you profiling me, Skinner?” I demand indignantly. I flex again, trying to flip and slither from beneath him.

“Keep going, Alex. You didn’t make sense at first, but we’re getting there.” He grabs my arm and pins it against him, his eyes scanning the room.

I follow the line of his gaze. His coat is draped over the back of the chair. The shining end of one cuff dangles from the pocket.

His expression turns speculative.

“Think you’re fast enough, Skinner?”

“Probably…”

Before I even have time to reply, he’s off the bed, dragging me across the floor. He’s got the cuff on my wrist and we’re thrashing on the floor. He winces as my arm connects with his balls, and his face is grim as he drags me back up on the bed and locks the other cuff around my bed post.

I’m kicking out and cursing in Russian; I don’t know what half of those words mean but I remember my older brother Mikel using them when he was really pissed.

Skinner pulls back, watching me, rubbing his arm. I can see a perfect half circle indentation where my teeth had sunk into his upper arm. “Little shit.” His eyes were cold. “I’m done playing with you.”

He dresses quickly, then exits the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

If I could reach my clothes, I’d have my picks. In really unrealistic spy movies, the bad-ass agent hides his equipment in a body cavity. Not my thing. Uncomfortable doesn’t even come close to describing it.

He left his coat. That means he’s coming back. Probably more of his home-brewed lame-ass scare tactics. Like being handcuffed to a bedpost is going to be a major trauma.

Back to the plan. Where was I? Oh, yeah, trigger. He wasn’t hard when he left, so seeing me cuffed doesn’t do it. It’ll be something softer. I’m not good at soft. Last night was…not me. I don’t know where this other Krycek came from. Left field, or hell, maybe. Not something I could keep up on a regular basis.

Skinner kicks the door open. He’s got a couple of thin yellow ropes in one hand and a knife in the other. A sharp little steak knife with a wicked point.

Yeah. Right. Like he’s…

He body-slams me into the headboard. Folds me up and ropes my legs open, nylon biting into my ankles.

I snarl at him, feeling like an idiot, trapped and splayed like a piece of meat on display.

“Sorry, Krycek.” His voice is calm. “You’re not going to like what happens next.”

The door pushes open and a man enters the room. The breath stops in my throat. Stephan Idano. One of the smoker’s three lieutenants. He’s so high on the food chain he doesn’t even bother kicking me when he passes in the hall.

“The smoker found out. He’s offered me immunity in exchange for you.” Skinner picks up the knife. “Stephan is here to seal the deal. Or witness. Not sure which.” He looks over at Stephan.

Another man steps inside the room, holding a cell phone. He points it at me.

“Record,” Stephan orders.

It’s hard to breath. I wish to hell I could be stoic about what’s going to happen next but I’m gasping in terror and tears are leaking from the corners of my eyes. _Never thought he would_ …

Stephan holds out his hand. Skinner stands up and hands him the knife.

 _Never thought…never thought_ … I whimper as Stephan takes his place on the bed.

He grasps my limp cock in his hand. I feel the tip of the knife against my slit. “Do you know what happens to traitors in our organization?”

I can barely speak. “They get hurt?” I whisper.

“Louder.”

I’ll do anything he tells me. I’ll scream. I’ll beg. It doesn’t matter anymore. “They get hurt. Oh, God. I’m sorry. Please. Please. Don’t…”

A gunshot shatters the window and Stephan’s chest explodes. There’s a sharp bite from the knife as his fingers release it. His heart pumps as he falls, a crimson ocean that spreads over the white cotton sheets.

“Shit!” The man with the camera turns and sprints away. Two more shots come through the window and I hear the sound of two bodies hitting the ground.

I wait, lungs convulsing, wishing the next shot would be for me.

Skinner walks to the foot of the bed. He extends an arm and looks out the window, gives a nod.

The gun cracks again and bloods gushes from his arm. He winces, then heads out at a run.

I can follow the trail of forensics evidence that he’s leading. Shooter nicks him, he bolts. I wonder who he’s leaving it for. It feels like my mind is floating above my body.

When he comes back, he’s got a towel wrapped around his arm. He carefully avoids stepping on his blood trail and comes to sit on the bed.

My spine aches, and I can’t help gasping as he unties the ropes from the bedpost, leaving the nylon still knotted around my ankles. “Do you know why I did that?” he asks.

“No.” I wish he’d say my name. I don’t know if I’m still Krycek or I’m Alex. “I mean…I know why you called the shot. I don’t know why…” _why you called the Smoker. Why you waited til the last minute, why you let me think_ …

“Do you remember what happened on this bed yesterday?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

He’s touching me, hip to hip, but just barely. I wish he’d put his hands on me. Even if it hurts. I don’t know what he wants to hear. An apology? “I was going to hurt you. I…” _Gerber steel, slicing open the material of his shirt_ “…I cut you…” _Seems a shame to spoil all the work they put into this_ “I touched you...let you think I was going to do what…the same thing Stephan was about to do to me. This was payback?”

“Maybe.” His gaze is thoughtful. Then he seats himself between my legs. He pushes me up, leaving me exposed, knees over his shoulders. I shudder as I watch his hands cinching up the ropes. He picks up the knife.

It’s too much. The circuits of my brain are overloading.

“There’s not much worse it can get than this, can it?” His voice is calm. It’s somehow more terrifying that he’s so calm. Anger, I could understand. His hands stroke me, touching me intimately.

I don’t close my eyes, don’t want the touch of the knife to be a surprise. But maybe that’s what he wants. That involuntary reaction. The helpless terror. Reacting to the pain. Not knowing what was going to happen. Expecting the worst. That’s what I did to him.

I close my eyes, waiting.

“An interesting fact that I’ve noticed about people; they often give according to their own needs. Is this what you needed, Alex? To have a man’s knife someplace no man wants to feel a knife?” I feel his thumb rubbing the spot between my balls, his fingers separating them. I shudder at the touch of cold metal. He lays the blade flat between them. “To feel fingers…” The knife goes away and I feel his thumb digging in below, opening me. Two more fingers. “Wondering what goes in there next? And then it stops. And the worst didn’t happen, and you think that maybe, it won’t? That you have finally found someplace…someone…safe?” He lets the ropes slide out of his hands and backs away, letting me straighten out. “Is that what you thought you were doing for me?”

 _I don’t know. Maybe. It doesn’t feel…wrong_. “Did it work?”

“Maybe.” He hands me a key. “Open the cuffs. Make sure you leave a clear fingerprint.” He gets up. “Take no more than five minutes. Grab anything you would have grabbed on the way out. I’ll meet you outside.”

My legs are shaking as I pull on some clothes. Leather jacket. Boots. My kit. Always ready to run. Takes me less than five minutes.

As I leave the building I notice that the cameras have been shot out. Skinner is waiting in the alley. There are two men with him; I don’t recognize them, but Skinner doesn’t look worried. One of them has a Barrett slung over his shoulder. Nice, but I prefer a Steyr.

A truck backs into the alley. Smoked windows. Extended cab. The driver’s side door opens and a woman gets out. Olive skin, black hair pulled back into a tight bun. All business.

Skinner pulls her into a hug. She laughs, and goes to join the men in the alley.

He motions for me to get into the passenger side. I open the door, toss my possessions behind the seat and slide in.

The engine starts up. Lots of horsepower, very smooth. There are extra buttons on the dash that I’m dying to figure out; I wonder if there’s a manual in the glove box.

“No questions?” he asks as we pull out into the street.

“What. The. Fuck?”

He laughs. “One down. Two to go.”

For a moment I have the panicked thought that this isn’t really Skinner. I mean…seriously…before tonight I would have said he doesn’t do laughing and hugging “One what?”

“Stephan. He was the one who was in charge of my kidnapping.”

 _Shit_. “You’re going after the Smoker’s power structure?”

“I’m retiring. Man’s got to have a hobby. The Millers have been after me to take their last name for a while.”

“The Millers?”

“Smith was taken. Johnson sounds like a place that makes powder for babies’ butts. Brown and Jones had bad connotations.” He rattles them off in a way that tells me he’s heard this explanation before. “Williams would have been okay but I think they just wanted to be able to say “It’s Miller Time” when they sprang into action.” He chuckled. “Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life, Alex. Welcome to the native resistance.”

“Will there be sniper rifles? And pizza?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“What about…them?” I’m still avoiding thinking about that particular sore tooth.

“They should be fine. The Smoker is going to have bigger problems.”

I try to be casual about the question, but there just isn’t any other way to frame it. “What about us?”

“You tell me. Are we done?”

“Done…as in done with…each other?”

“Done with the manipulation. Done with the lies. Done with acting on impulse instead of just asking the question. Good job, by the way,” he added “on asking the question instead of just rolling down the window and jumping out.”

His sarcasm is really hard to detect, other than by content. I make note of that. “Sorry. Guess I’ve been kind of a drama queen with an extra helping of fuck-head thrown in.”

“First we’ll work on your self-image. Then your defense mechanisms. I’m getting really tired of pointing out that I’m not Mulder.”

“You’re not Mulder. I get that. I’m used to relying on my instincts, though, and that’s pretty hard to retrain.”

“We’ll have two weeks. No contact. Groceries dropped by drone. Just us and the bullfrogs and the mosquitoes. Our departure cannot look planned. We’ll need that deniability as part of our cover.”

Two weeks in isolation, with Skinner’s attention focused on me. There will be bruises, I think. I saw the way the Millers arranged themselves, the little tells to their positions. They’re professionals, used to working as a team. That takes practice. And I don’t know many snipers who could have taken those shots at that angle.

“How long til we get there?”

He snorts. “Go to sleep, Alex. If I have to listen to you ask ‘are we there yet?’ at every off-ramp I’ll have to shoot you.”

I reach behind the seat and pull out three pairs of underwear and socks stuffed into a laundry bag. The seat leans back with a quiet hum. I turn my head, and watch the lights of D.C. pass by until I grow sleepy, and then I close my eyes and leave it all behind.


End file.
